


Rip Out My Heart, It Would Be Better Than This

by MyCupOfEarlGrey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Boys Kissing, Dean is very art, Fluff, Lots of Angst, Love, M/M, SMUTTY SMUT, Smut, boys crying, kind of, lots of f words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 19:45:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5387996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyCupOfEarlGrey/pseuds/MyCupOfEarlGrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean spends most nights listening to Seamus fuck other people. It hurts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rip Out My Heart, It Would Be Better Than This

**Author's Note:**

> Idk really what this is but I am v proud of it. Also how is it so damn hard to write 500 words for school but an 1,800 word fic is easy?

Dean isn’t worried when Seamus isn’t back by curfew. He almost never is anymore, especially not on a friday night. Dean’s become used to it, they all have. And Dean pretends to sleep every night when Seamus slips into their dormitory, never alone. He always listens. The other boys’ put muffling charms around their beds on the nights when Seamus is late, but he can’t bring himself to do the same. He knows it’s wrong but he needs to know. He needs to know who it is doing the things he wants to do to the boy he loves. He can never sleep when there’s someone else in Seamus’ bed.

Tonight it’s a boy. Dean can tell by the way the footsteps are heavier, and the way Seamus is quietly giggling. He gets giggly when he’s with guys.

“Shhh, you’re going to wake them up!” The voice is deep, he recognizes it immediately as Blaise Zabini. He can’t blame Seamus for that one, no one could deny that the Slytherin boy is gorgeous. 

“Nah they’ve all got silencing charms ‘round their beds. We can be as loud as we want.” Dean is turned away from them but he knows the suggestive smirk that must’ve accompanied Seamus’ words.

“Is that right?” Blaise’s voice remains cool as always, but Dean can hear a hint of desperation mixed into it.

There’s a small thud as one body hits the bed, then a shuffling of sheets, and a pop. A wet noise and a small sigh. 

Dean tries not to picture the scene unfolding behind him, but the artist in him makes it hard. He can tell that Seamus is bottoming tonight by his friends breathy moans. He hates that he can tell, he hates that he has heard all the little noises Seamus makes but has never been the one to elicit them. He hates himself and he hates Blaise and suddenly he hates Seamus too. 

He can’t take it anymore, and Blaise moans and Seamus cries out and Dean just cries. He lets out silent sobs, trying not to shake his bed too much, as he listens to the two boys talk quietly. 

“You staying?” Seamus asks breathlessly a few minutes later. 

“Do you want me to?” Blaise replies.

“It’d be nice for once. Besides, tomorrows Saturday. You could be up and gone before anyone knows you were here.” Dean is surprised. They almost never stay, and it brings a fresh wave of tears to Dean’s eyes. 

And it’s not Dean’s fault if the words ‘I would always stay.’ run through his mind. 

“Then of course I’ll stay.” Comes Blaise’s reply, and then there whispers fade to a soft murmur, too quiet for Dean to make out.

Dean falls asleep then, but only for a few hours, and it is a restless sleep filled with the noises Seamus seems to make with everyone but him.

Blaise and Seamus are both still sleeping soundly when Dean wakes up and decides he can’t take it anymore. 

He looks at them before he leaves. He can’t help it. Seamus hadn’t bothered to close the curtains around his bed and it feels almost like an invitation to Dean. He takes in their sleeping forms, Blaise’s arms are wrapped around Seamus’ body... It’s beautiful in a way that makes Dean feel sick to his stomach. From an artist's perspective the way Blaise’s hand is caressing Seamus’ freckled hip, the way his dark skin compliments the curves of Seamus’ body is a perfect contrast. It makes Dean want to vomit.

He grabs his sketchbook and charcoal pencils and heads into the common room. It’s only about five-thirty a.m. but there's already a fire stoked in the fireplace. He lays across the loveseat that he and Seamus often share, and opens his book to a fresh page. The smell of the paper eases the knots in his stomach, if only a little.

Dean draws. He draws for an hour, barely realizing what the sketch is of. He draws until his eyes are so blurred with tears that he can’t see the page anymore. And then he slams the sketchbook closed, hard. And he doesn’t care if the picture gets ruined because the drawing is of Seamus wrapped up in Blaise’s arms and it might as well be a drawing of Seamus ripping Dean’s heart out of his chest.

In fact, Dean would almost prefer the latter situation, because at least then Seamus would know that he had Dean’s heart.

Dean hears footsteps on the stairs a few minutes later, but he can’t bring himself to move. He knows that it’s Blaise, slipping out before anyone knows he was ever there. Dean thinks maybe he should move or hide or something, in case Seamus is with him, but that all feels ridiculous so he just lays on his couch, their couch, heartbeat far too loud in his ears.

“Dean?” The Irish brogue is all too familiar and it does nothing to ease the turmoil in Dean’s head. “What’re you doing here? You look like complete shit mate. Did you get any sleep at all?”

Dean doesn’t know how to reply, so he doesn’t. He just looks at his best friend, trying to sort out his thoughts in a way that he could communicate to the other boy.

Seamus isn’t wearing a shirt, just silk pyjamas riding low on his hips. His chest is smooth and pale and beautifully freckled and Dean wishes that he could appreciate the view, but he just can’t, because he knows that only a few short hours ago someone else's hands were all over Seamus’ perfect body.

“Dean?” The irish boy sits on the edge of the sofa, (un?)comfortably close to Dean. “Tell me what’s wrong mate.”

And something in Dean snaps, and he has a sudden burst of energy, getting up off the loveseat and collecting his pencils.

“You wanna know what’s wrong? You’re a fucking slut Shay! That’s what’s wrong.” Which definitely isn’t what he meant to say, and Dean regrets the words almost as soon as they are out of his mouth, but he can’t choke out an apology, and Seamus’ eyes are starting to tear up.

“Fuck you, Dean. Fuck. You.” His voice cracks on the last word, and Dean can tell that he’s is trying to sound angry but he’s failing miserably. 

And then something breaks and suddenly they are both crying, and Seamus is wrapping his arms around Dean’s torso and Dean’s fingertips are digging into Seamus’ back as they sob into each other's necks, holding on to each other like they’ll both die if they let go. Dean is not completely convinced they won't.

And Dean apologizes now, managing to choke out a “Fuck Shay, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

And then Seamus is pulling Dean up by the hand, to the stairs and into the dormitory and into Dean’s bed and yanking the bed curtains shut. And then they kiss, or really Seamus kisses Dean. Seamus presses his lips to Dean’s, and it’s heavy like the weight of Seamus straddling his hips. It’s a rough press of their mouths as Seamus pulls at Dean’s shirt with the hand that’s not buried in Dean’s hair.

They pause, for just a second while Dean unceremoniously yanks his shirt off over his head, and then he drags Seamus’ face back down to his own.

Dean needs to be in control now. He needs Seamus to be his, if only for a little bit. He rolls them over so that he’s on top of Seamus, and the Irish boy gives him that smirk that Dean knows he gives to everyone that he fucks. Dean still feels special. 

Seamus is still loose from the night before, and Dean hates it. He hates that he doesn’t have to work his fingers into the other boy, scissor him open. But it still feels so so good when he pushes into him. The hiss of half-pain half-relief that escape Seamus’ lips is gorgeous. 

Dean works himself up to a steady rhythm, fucking into Seamus while his best friend lets out little squeaks and moans. Seamus wraps his legs up around the backs of Dean’s thighs and throws his head back, letting Dean suck bruises into his skin to cover the marks left by other lips.

He knows Seamus is getting close when his whimpers get louder, because he’s heard those noises a thousand times. Seamus begins to dig his nails into Dean’s back, and Dean pounds harder into him, thrusts getting sloppy, because fuck, he’s getting close too.

And Seamus scratches down Dean’s back when he comes, hard enough that Dean wouldn’t be surprised if he bleeds, and it’s the most beautiful sort of pain, the kind that makes you feel like your heart is going to burst and sends butterflies to your stomach. Dean’s pace slows as he nears his peak, releasing into Seamus with his face buried in the smaller boy's neck.

He collapses into Seamus’ arms, letting himself relax into the other boy's skin and just breathe for a second. Seamus smells like a mixture of burnt marshmallows and both their sweat, which is somehow so intoxicating.

“Fuck Shay.” Dean breathes out, words ghosting across Seamus’ pale face, as he places a small kiss on Seamus’ freckle spattered cheek.

And Dean hopes to god that it was as good for Seamus as it was for him. And he hopes that they can stay curled up just like this, for at least a little bit because he feels safe and warm in his best friend's arms, and he doesn’t know if they can ever be the same again. And he really doesn’t know if Seamus loves him the way he loves Seamus, or if they will ever do this again, but maybe all the uncertainty is worth it to have had Seamus this way just once.

And they are laying on their sides, facing each other, sharing the pillow. 

And then Seamus breaks the perfect silence, shattering Dean’s fantasy of just laying there pressed against Seamus forever, just listening to him breathe.

“Dean, I-” He starts, but Dean cuts him off.

“I know.” Dean says, defeated.

“You do?” Seamus whispers back, a soft sort of confused expression on his face.  
“Yeah Shay. I know that this was a one time thing. I know that I don’t mean any more to you than all the other people you’ve fucked. I know you don’t feel the same way I do. I know.”

Seamus looked sad now, but a happy sort of sad. Then he leans forward and presses his lips against Dean’s, a chaste peck that only lasts half a second. It feels like it lasts forever, in the best kind of way.

“No you fucking idiot. I was gonna say I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed :) Kudos and comments make my day  
> criticism welcomed with open arms


End file.
